


Telemachus al Ghul

by andromedia5



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Baby Damian Wayne, Batfamily (DCU), Damian Wayne Angst, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, The League of Assassins (DCU), The Odyssey References, burnt out high school english student shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedia5/pseuds/andromedia5
Relationships: Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Telemachus al Ghul

If Damian was allowed any stories, they were Greek myths. The closest thing he could remember getting as a birthday present were a copies of The Iliad and The Odyssey. He drew Odysseus with his staff in the dirt, over and over again until his mind’s eye was satisfied. That’s what his father looked like, he decided. Tall, large, and strong, like a tree. His skin would be tan and dark, a little lighter than Mother’s, like his.

He was Telemachus, bravely awaiting his father’s return. His father, who was surely a great warrior, would be proud of Damian. He was trying to get back to them now, battling monsters and gods, whatever it took to come back to him and Mother.

He was rereading Odysseus’s return, by candlelight for the thousandth time. How Telemachus proudly presented his father to his mother and how clever Penelope made sure Odysseus was who he said he was with their own secrets which Damian was sure his parents must have. The way Penelope smiled more then she had in years and ran into Odysseus’s arms. That was when he heard the screams.

Screams were not unusual but it was his mother’s name that caught his attention. He had never heard that before.

“Lady al Ghul, I beg of you!”

Damian drew his own swords and ran to his mother’s chambers. She wasn’t there. He crept through the door to the tearoom and saw his mother, long brown hair flowing around her, flickering firelight sharping her features making her look like some goddess of destruction. She tilted the man’s chin up from his mumbled prayers to Allah for forgiveness with her sword.

“Your words are of no use to me,”

Damian feels the hot splash of blood hit his face and is nearly sick at the way it almost immediately turns cold on his lips and cheeks. The man falls and it is how his mother wipes her sword clean on the skirt of her dress, and turns to him, amber eyes narrowed like a bird of prey telling him quietly to return to bed and not emerge til morning. It’s the way the she hums to herself as she plucks a piece of paper from the dead man’s pocket and returns to her study. It’s the way that he recognizes that man’s face as the tutor who had showed interest in his sketches of Greek heroes.

It is all these things that make Damian realize that his mother is no Penelope.


End file.
